anxiety

Mom just brought me a chewable calcium supplement. Two, actually. “One for later,” she said, because Jason told her that Dr. Oz said somewhere that we can only absorb so much calcium at one time, so we need to take it in two doses. I am terrible at remembering to take vitamins, but I’m even more terrible at them ever since Jason began a sentence (with only the best of intentions) with, “You know, in terms of calcium, once a woman reaches thirty-five…” I hit mute, rewind, delete, deny.

I kind of walk around all day right now with this low-level, stomach-knot anxiety. Part of it must come from me being unable to do anything that feels like actual exercise. I can’t skate, I can’t go for a run, I can’t even go for a twenty-minute walk without regretting it later. So I sit. I sit and wait. I wait for word on the upfronts. Any minute now we find out the fate of Romantically Challenged. I’m under contract there, which means I can only do so much alternate planning in case the show goes from hiatus to cancelled. With the publication of Going in Circles I am finished with my contract, and I’m now writing chapters that will end up in a book proposal. I’ve also written up a pitch for an hour-long tv show based on a novel I love, love, love, but I’m waiting on notes from my agent… who is busy with upfronts. I meet tomorrow with the studio I’m creating a half-hour pitch with this development season, which means I’m waiting to find out what project I’ll ultimately be pitching with them. I’m waiting on responses for a few other possibles here and there. All good things, if only a “YES” would come back. I’m waiting. I’m writing. I’m waiting. And I’m closely monitoring my dwindling savings account. Continue reading

torn.

PAMIE: [Answering phone] Hello?

MOM: Do you have something you need to tell me?

PAMIE: … Um… uh… well, uh… do you want to maybe give me a hint or a topic? Because this seems like a trick.

MOM: Your knee.

PAMIE: Oh.

MOM: I do read your website, you know. I didn’t, but I do now. Again. And you’re right. I was watching that game going, “My baby’s hurt! Don’t show other people, show my baby!” But you got back up and skated again so I wasn’t worried.

PAMIE: That’s why I got up.

MOM: I know. But you were hurt. You were lying. Continue reading

Unsent Love Letters: It’s Different at Sixteen.

I have to admit I almost stopped after the last entry of my unsent love letters. Maybe it’s because I can see how awkward fifteen was, with the repeated unrequited love, and my completely obvious lack of experience. I was able to laugh at myself. But sixteen. I don’t know. I kind of still remember how it felt to be sixteen, and I still think maybe I had a point. Not a GOOD point. I know that. Sort of.

But I found this letter that… if you received this letter right now you could probably legally have me arrested.

His name has been erased to protect the innocent. Since some of you have told me the all-caps names can get confusing, I’ll just call him BOY. Since that’s probably the only word that was flashing in my head, a million times a second, every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every bi-monthly period of every quarter of every semester of every year. Continue reading

xbox 365.

I haven’t had a gaming system in my home for years.

This has been intentional. I know myself enough to know that as soon as there’s a controller on my coffee table, all of my time will just disappear.

But now there’s an Xbox in the house. XBOX? xBox? I don’t care. I don’t have time to look it up because I can’t stop playing it.

At first I was able to pretend it was no big deal. It’s another little box near the television. Like the Apple TV or the DVR. Just something over there to entertain, but it’s not like it has Rock Band or something, so I’m cool just ignoring it.

You know, ignore it and focus on things in the real world that are important. Like a job. Or trying to get a job. The spec screenplay I keep promising people. Something that shows, at the end of the day, you actually existed that day. You accomplished something. Continue reading

conversation with mom

[scripty]
Pamie
…And then I said, “Well, that sounds dangerous, so please don’t tell me about it until it’s over or I will worry about it from now until it’s over.”

Mom
That’s exactly what you should have said.

Pamie
Which is how I knew I’d officially turned into you. I no longer want to hear about dangerous things people are doing until they’re done doing them. I suddenly understand why the mom of the girl at the Olympics wouldn’t even watch her compete. Used to think it was selfish; now believe it’s completely sensible.

Mom
This is why I don’t want to know anything about roller derby.

Pamie
Which is why I didn’t tell you when I broke my tailbone.

Mom
You should still tell me when you break your tailbone.

Pamie
And lie about how I did it?

Mom
I need to know when you break something.

Pamie
So you can get mad? Or so you can stop worrying that I’ll break something and start worrying about how I’ve broken something?

Mom
Both.

Pamie
I am careful, Mom. I watch out for myself.

Mom
Uh-huh. I’m sure you do, but you live in a city full of crazy people.

Pamie
Myself included.

Mom
People are always dying out there. Murdered in the streets. Whenever I watch one of these television shows, the murders and death are always happening in Los Angeles. Dangerous city.

Pamie
Mom… that’s because they make those shows in Los Angeles. This is where they make television. If they made all the television shows in Chicago, you’d think Chicago was the most dangerous city in America.

Mom
No, there are other dangerous cities. CSI: Miami, CSI: New York…

Pamie
Mom, I work at CSI: New York.

Mom
Really?

Pamie: Yes. They shoot across the street from my office. We’re on the same lot. And I can’t believe I just called a city “CSI:” anything.

Mom
Would you say hi to Gary Sinise for me?

Pamie
No. He gives me the creeps.

Mom
Well, that’s crazy. He seems like a nice guy.

Pamie
Why doesn’t Gary Oldman make movies anymore?

Mom
Now, THAT’S a creepy guy.

Pamie
Yeah, but he was really good at it.

Mom
What were we saying?

Pamie
That I’m going to be careful when I’m walking through the streets of CSI: New York at night.

Mom
Good. I love you.

Pamie
I love you, too, Mommy.
[/scripty]

Thank you, Senator Obama

For the first time since the Nixon Administration, my mother has registered to vote.

My mom, who actively tries to avoid knowing news because it upsets her too much, has HAD ENOUGH. She is voting for change and is on my sister’s ass to get registered by tonight’s deadline so they can vote for Obama two times. Obama made my mom a political activist! Do you have any idea how many years I tried to get her to vote for something, anything?

I can’t even imagine what my dad would have thought of that. My mom and sister, getting their American rights on, because they want their voices to count, so they can stand up and say: “No more.”

I’m so proud of them.